Three Sticks of Dynamite
by Nianai Bell Nezumi
Summary: Just when they think they are starting to get the hang of things, everything blows up. Literally.


Disclaimer: There's blood, bad language and I don't own anything. Set sometime after the end of the manga

* * *

The blast happens just as Gokudera is about to retort back at Yamamoto's joke about smoke bombs and his smoking.

It's loud, leaving all three of them temporarily deaf and blinded. Gokudera would later curse at himself for not noticing the bomb sooner. When Gokudera blinks away the haziness around the edges of his vision he almost vomits at the awkward angle his shoulder is at.

But his pain isn't important and what is important is not in his immediate line of vision. Pulling himself up he finally spots the two suited men laying a few feet away from him. Ryohei is already on his hands and knees, coughing up blood, but alive. He's running a bandaged hand through once white hair, now practically blackened by his blood. Yamamoto was thrown into a wall and he's slumped over but Gokudera hears a groan and knows that his back will smart for at least two weeks. Gokudera doesn't even hear the sigh of relief escape from his mouth.

Now it's time to get the hell out of here, find the 10th and Lambo, then run like hell. Not the best plan he's ever had but at the moment it's all he can muster up.

Before he can stagger over to his friends a heavy boot finds the area where the bone in his shoulder should have been connected, and the boot kicks. _Hard. _Gokudera is used to pain, but this is excruciating, and he hears his own bone chilling scream that he likes to think sounds more like a snarl than a wail. But there is no need to lie to himself at this point.

The right hand man of the Marsillini Boss is grinning down at him, teeth and mouth twisting into a vicious smile.

The irony of the right hand man fight right hand man doesn't escape him even in his haze.

Gokudera is gasping through the pain. He's also repeating fucks in his mind because it's the only mantra in his head right now. His uninjured hand isn't really that uninjured but is in comparison to the bloody twitchy mess of his left hand right now. His uninjured but really injured hand slips into his back pocket and he closes his hand over three sticks of dynamite.

The man standing above doesn't appreciate the motion, because he kicks _the same damn spot_ on his shoulder and Gokudera almost passes out right there. What the bloody hell? Does that man just know where his body is falling apart? That sucks.

Gokudera vaugley hear the angry yells of "Hayato!" and "Octopus Head!" behind him but really there is nothing they can do. Gokudera knows Ryohei is not up to fighting yet, he's healing Yamamoto. The same Yamamoto who is currently flexing his hand anxiously over his katana, ready to cut the bastard in half. Gokudera knows Yamamoto isn't smiling. He smiles at the thought.

Cracking one eye open, Gokudera glares at the man above him and tells him to go to hell in every language he knows. The twisted grin drops into an ugly (uglier?) frown. Apparently he had understood one of the insults because he stomps with that steel toe boot right onto his chest. He leans down to Gokudera's face and whispers, "You can have my spot in hell." in broken Japanese.

Gokudera doesn't even see the gun that's pointed at his chest until after it fires.

* * *

He wakes up in engulfed in a pair of arms.

It would be a nice if it weren't for the fire currently winding through his chest. And if he wasn't being jostled up and down.

Gokudera fought through the fogginess in his brain and came to one conclusion. He was being carried while his holder was running.

He must really be in deep shit if they were hurrying to get him out of there.

Trying to forget the pain (fat chance of that) Gokudera's brain beings to whirl. He was just fucking _shot_, his shoulder was practically_ torn from his back_, and the last thing he really remembered was two familiar voices tearing through his mind. So who was carrying him now? An overpowering but familiar scent hit his nose and Gokudera moaned out the name of the scent.

"Yamamoto?"

The arms supporting him stilled for a moment before a soft chuckle reverberated in the chest Gokudera's head was on. That wasn't Yamamoto's laugh at all. The man tried to look up at his carrier but the pain came swarming back tenfold when he cracked his eyes open. Okay, bad idea.

The problem was solved when the person holding him spoke.

"No, Gokudera-kun. It's me, Tsuna."

Since when could Tsuna carry his body weight? Gokudera relaxed against the body and voice. Good. The 10th was alive and well. After everything else at least the 10th was alright. But the pain was still there, not just the physical pain, and Gokudera grit his teeth.

"Yamamoto, and.." breathing was getting more difficult. "Lawn Head. Where….?"

Tsuna was shushing him softly. Like a mother to her baby and just as effective. Gokudera tried to steady his breathing and waited for his boss to speak.

"It's alright Gokudera-kun." Tsuna spoke warmly and Gokudera believed him. It would be alright.

Even if the fucking bullet in his chest was hurting like a_ bitch._

Gokudera was almost positive his boss was finished so when the next sentence was spoken he was almost positive the cold undertone was his imagination.

"Yamamoto and Ryohei both said they had business with the bastard who blew your chest open. Their words not mine."

Gokudera remained silent for a second before coughing up blood and stating, "They're gonna, hah, tear him apart."

"I know."

Tsuna's flame washed over Gokudera. Warm and calming, they lapped steadily at him and he felt himself grow drowsy. Sleep sounded wonderful. Maybe when he woke up he wouldn't feel like someone had shoved lit dynamite in chest.

Before he could completely slip away a small smile fit his mouth.


End file.
